


missouri

by Batik



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 01:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14093841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batik/pseuds/Batik
Summary: Something short and smutty.





	missouri

**Author's Note:**

> It's called fiction for a reason.

“Show me.” 

Sid could feel his face, one cheek pressed into the mattress, flame at the words, even as his knees stuttered to the sides, caught on the drag of the sheet, and the tip of his dick nudged at the satiny-smooth cotton beneath him.

That slight shift surely put him on display — what else do you call it when you’re ass-up shoulders-down on someone else’s bed and naked as the day you were born? — even more than he had been, and a new wave of heat swept across his cheeks and down into his gut.

He moved to rub at his face, hoping maybe Geno would read it as Sid’s nose itching rather than an effort to scrub away his embarrassment. Instead, his feeble “scratch” at his nose turned into a weak flutter of fingers before they came to rest, hiding his face from the daylight streaming in the bedroom window. And from what he knew was Geno’s sharp gaze.

“Sid, show me,” Geno said again. “Want to see you.”

Sid’s dick twitched, fighting gravity to lift toward Sid’s abdomen before falling back to brush again against the sheet. He inhaled shakily and pressed his eyes even more tightly closed under his fingertips, his other hand tightening a bit where those fingers were tangled in the hair at the back of his skull. He breathed again, willing himself not to let the damp trail of come on the sheet become a puddle and finish this before it ever really started.

He wasn’t sure how much hotter his face could get, or how much harder his dick. The swirl of emotions was making him a bit lightheaded — the shame of his wantonness, the embarrassment of just how easy he was for Geno and just how clear his behavior had to be making that.

Still, he trusted Geno, he reminded himself. Trusted his patience, trusted the broken rasp in Geno’s voice that said he was just as affected by Sid as Sid was by him.

And, god, Sid _wanted_. Probably more than he’d ever wanted anything other than hockey. And right now, he _needed_ Geno.

So he took another breath and moved his hands away from his head, once again leaving his overheated face — well, one side of it — open to Geno’s gaze. Then he shifted his weight, letting it all fall on his shoulders, and moved his hands back to finish the task, grabbing his ass and spreading his cheeks to fully bare himself for Geno.

“Geno, _please_ ,” he managed to gasp as he held himself steady. He might yet die a fiery death as the combined heat of his embarrassment and need turned him to ash from the inside out, but it’d be worth it. He knew Geno would make it worth it.

“Do again, Sid,” Geno commanded, and Sid had no doubt it was a command, even if Geno’s tone was soft. And that was OK, too. Sid had never been able to deny Geno anything, and Geno has justified Sid’s generosity time and again by never asking more than Sid could give.

Sid loosened his grip until the flesh slipped from his fingers. He rolled his hips slightly, as much to stretch his back muscles as to tease, and grabbed himself again.

He hadn’t dared touch his hole, but Sid could feel his movements affecting the tight furl at his core. It wasn’t enough to count as prep, by any stretch of the imagination, but it felt good. He wanted more.

Geno groaned behind Sid, a guttural sound that went straight to Sid’s dick, and Sid pushed from his shoulder, trying to gain the leverage to get his hips up and back and closer to the source of that sound.

The bed shifted under Sid, first one side, then the other, as Geno knee-walked his way between Sid’s thighs. 

Then Geno’s long fingers were covering Sid’s, helping him hold his cheeks apart, squeezing into Sid’s skin, the muscle underneath. 

Sid felt Geno’s warm breath on his bare skin just before the moisture landed directly on Sid’s hole and Geno’s thumbs kneaded at the area to encourage it to settle in.

“I think I get you a hattie today,” Geno said. “Start now.”

Sid was still trying to find the words to ask what Geno meant when Geno simultaneously squeezed his fingers around Sid’s, pushed one thumb into Sid’s ass and bit — a sucking thing just shy of uncomfortable — at the tender meat to one side.

Sid jerked. He didn’t make it far in Geno’s firm grip, but the sudden movement pushed — bounced, really — the head of his dick against the mattress. The resulting friction wasn’t much, but it was more than enough to send Sid free-falling into his orgasm.

By the time the spasms had stopped, Sid’s dick wasn’t the only thing spent. His embarrassment at having his ass in the air for Geno apparently had passed with his orgasm. Sid counted that as a good thing, because he certainly didn’t have the energy to move. He might have to spend the rest of his life in that position.

Then Geno moved his thumb — still inside Sid — and Sid squirmed before letting his hips slide to flatten out on the bed, wet spot be damned.

Geno scooted up and over Sid’s leg before reclining along one side, tucked up against Sid with one leg hooked over a thigh and his hand proprietarily on Sid’s ass. Geno’s erection, still hot and hard, nudged against Sid’s hip.

Sid sighed and raised his chin incrementally, wordlessly asking for a kiss. Geno ducked to meet him, understanding what Sid needed here as clearly as they understood each other on the ice.

And Sid would take care of Geno, he would. Just as soon as he got his breath back.

“Now we warmed up,” Geno said, his tone somewhere between teasing affection and matter-of-factness.

“That was just warm-up?” Sid asked, a bit incredulous.

“I’m say we get you hat trick,” Geno said, all smug certainty now. “Still two goals to go.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've posted in months and the first thing that hasn't fought me on every word in more than a year. It does nothing to help my now 2-year-old WIP, but ... such is life.


End file.
